Putting it behind you
by Fuyu Tatsu
Summary: He didn't deserve John. No matter how much he loved the doctor.


FT: I'm writing a fucking Omegaverse. I am in some deep trouble. Omega Sherlock, because I find an Alpha John absolutely hysterical.

Notes: In this, just because you knot doesn't mean you're bound together for life. If the scent gland is bitten, it still doesn't guarantee a bonding. Marriage is still the preferred way of keeping your mate long-term, and just because an Omega gets knocked up doesn't mean that they actually keep the kids if the Alpha decides to leave for another. Bondings via knotting and gland biting still happen, but not with the frequency people are inclined to believe.

OCs:

Hamish Watson-Holmes

Blake Watson-Holmes

Allen Watson

Iris Watson

Well… enjoy!

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Sherlock knew the exact moment he was pregnant. John was a considerate lover, slow and gentle, and more than willing to let his inexperienced partners stop him when they got nervous. He didn't know too many Alphas who would stop mid-heat to let their partners calm down. But then again, John was many things that other Alphas weren't.

But the moment he knew… John had fully seated himself inside Sherlock, his knot almost painful in its size, but the natural slick produced by Omegas eased its entry into Sherlock's body. The more mischievous part of his head cackled at the fact that he can in fact say that 'sex doesn't alarm me' to Mycroft the next time the tosser tried to pull that particular stunt.

John rubbed his stomach gently, his body supine and lax under the hands of the former surgeon. John murmured into his hair, his normally clear British accent getting fogged slightly by a positively lovely Scottish lilt, and his natural scent seeped forth into the air of Sherlock's room (Wind, rich loam, gunpowder, tea, and sun-warmed wool), coaxing the exhausted Omega into sleep. Sherlock slept, his body spent from staying up for five days prior to his heat hitting a week and a half early, and John's stimulatingly –mind-stopping- gentle sex. But some cue in his genetic biology told him that he was pregnant, his womb working to prepare for the world's newest arrival. A brief moment of fear, but John's rough hands smoothing softly over his belly chased it away, like light in a dark room.

If only it could last.

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Moriarty had chased him into this corner. Sherlock absently rubbed his still-flat stomach, imagining that, for the briefest second, he could feel the gradual swell of his uterus to accommodate his –no, his and John's- child. It was three days after his heat.

He convinced Mycroft to lure John away from St. Bart's, in a moment, Molly would send the text that the body of the Grimm kidnapping was ready, and he would go to the roof, to play the last game with the madman.

His phone beeped three times in succession.

Mycroft, Molly, Moriarty.

**Everything is in position. MH**

_**Ready X Molls**_

_I'm waiting. JM_

Sherlock deleted the first two; John couldn't be allowed to see them. His heart tightened slightly.

'Oh come now Sherlock… Only now you discover you have a heart? He was a one-time fling, he doesn't know you are carrying his child… he can't _ever_ know.' Sherlock steeled his heart, his mind, forced his emotions into a one-way lockbox that only one man had the key to. Not that John would ever know. He forced that into the lockbox too, and stood to confront Moriarty. Now or never.

#$%^&#$%^&#$%^&#

Sherlock tried so very hard to keep himself away from the fake grave. To not see the grieving man who wanted him _to stop being dead._ He let his hand ghost over his six and a half months swell, feeling the twins kick in response. He could only hope that John would find somebody to hold him together. For the rest of his natural days, because he deserved at least that much. Not what Sherlock had, a fractured mind, a torn heart… nothing Sherlock had was worth the golden heart of John Watson. He turned away, and hid himself away from the world who believed the lies printed on cheap paper. He had a network to dismantle.

$%^&*$%^&*$%^&*$

Sherlock made sure that the twins stayed safe with one member of his homeless network. Well, Ashley Franks couldn't be called 'homeless' anymore, she had pulled her act together and worked full time in a café. But she had helped Sherlock many times in the past, and the twins liked her. Hamish was the sweet one, his blonde curls caressing the dark eye lashes framing mercurial eyes. Blake was quieter, her straight black locks and indigo eyes seeing past the world in general. Ashley loved them, and so did her children (Two girls who wouldn't stop giggling whenever Hamish giggled). Yes, they would be safe while Sherlock infiltrated Serbia.

Mycroft had caught up to him there, and despite Sherlock's later accusations, had cringed every time a fist impacted with bruised ribs or when skin was sliced with sharp knives.

God he hated this part. He murmured deductions about many a man's life, but the man's wife was sure to get the brute's attention. He almost felt sorry for the Omega wife, but really, she had been trying for many years to get pregnant with her husband, and the idiot had been taking medicine that killed his sperm count.

He felt the barely-heard sigh of relief when Mycroft and he were left alone. And he stole away later that night, vanishing to Ashley's to pick up his children.

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John was angry.

Very angry. Sherlock didn't stop him from the nasty knock on the back of his head, the cut on his lip, or even the bloody nose.

He didn't stop John from leaving with Mary.

After all, Mary could give John what Sherlock couldn't.

He tracked down Molly and Lestrade, Molly who looked relieved to see him healthy and whole, Lestrade embraced him like a long-lost pack mate. Mrs. Hudson screamed, but had calmed when she met the twins. They adored her immediately, and she loved them.

He didn't try to contact John again. He should have known better.

He was crooning to Blake, her soft and fitful cries gradually fading to nothing. His parents came, eyes alight.

His mother was beside herself, his father seemed quietly proud. It was during this marathon chatter that John came. While Sherlock still cradled the dozing Blake in his arms, and Hamish gummed a wooden bloke on the floor nearby. Sherlock saw the emotions flit and clash on John's face, and his parents decided that they needed to leave. Immediately.

John stood stock-still, his face draining of color as Sherlock backed away from him slightly, curling his body so Blake wasn't hit by the brunt of John's anger, a safe distance from Hamish so that if he fell, The boy wouldn't get hurt.

John did none of those things that raced through Sherlock's mind.

His mouth opened and closed a few times, and he shook with rage. But he did not strike Sherlock. He did not yell. He did not demand answers, even though it was clear as day whose children they were. He didn't ask why or how. He turned away, rage rolling off him in waves, until Hamish cried. Sherlock was by the boys' side, crooning softly to make his son calm down, and when he looked up, John was staring with a stunned expression.

"Wh… What are their names?" John asked after an eternity. Sherlock was cradling Hamish to his heart now, and the pup was slowly calming, sucking on his thumb.

"Hamish and Blake." Sherlock whispered. There was a tension in the room, and Sherlock forced himself to be calm, for sniffling Hamish and the waking Blake.

Hamish…. And Blake… you never told me."

Sherlock turned away slightly, shielding his children from the rising wave of anger.

"When you jumped… you were pregnant?! You never told me! Am I not worth an explanation?! 'OH, YES, BY THE WAY JOHN, I'M CARRYING YOUR PUPS, BUT I'M GONNA JUMP OFF A ROOF BECAUSE I CAN!'" John was shouting now, and Sherlock cringed.

"I never told you because you didn't want me. You helped me through a heat, but you didn't want outside of that. They're _mine_. I kept them safe, away from danger. They never went where it was dangerous, _because I love them_. They are _MINE_ John. Mine, nobody else's." Sherlock shot back, his eyes narrow. John looked as if he had been slapped. "You never wanted me, I begged you to help me through my heat, and you did that. You were kinder than I expected, I never thought I would end up with children, but I did what I did to keep them safe. _You moved on_, you have Mary now. Leave me with this, because I need them, and have a litter with Mary, because she can give you everything that I can't. This… This is mine. And mine alone."

Sherlock wasn't even aware he was crying until John stopped mid-step towards him. The solider turned away and entered the kitchen, and fetched a clean dishtowel. It brushed his cheek, with a tenderness that surprised Sherlock.

John didn't try to reach for the children, but as soon as Sherlock was capable of grasping the towel for himself, he backed away, stepping backwards until his back touched the wall next to the door. Sherlock read what that meant. Rejection. Of mate, of pups, everything. Sherlock almost laughed in hysterical panic. Of course he would reject Sherlock. Who would want a half crazed ex-junkie? Certainly not someone as stable as John. He had Mary, he would be happy with her. But Hamish cooed at him, gnawing on the towel, pale eyes fixed on Sherlock's' own.

"What did you need me for?" John asked, not looking at Sherlock. His gaze was fixed on the buffalo, anywhere but the space Sherlock and the twins occupied.

"I need to find Lord Moran."

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Sherlock half expected to get punched again when John realized he had been taken for a ride again. When he laughed, half out of panic, half out of amusement, he registered that John was _looking at him _again.

But it wouldn't change things.

No. This would never be the same after his rejection of their pups. But Sherlock realized just how much he actually loved John.

Just as sharply, he knew that he was never going to be loved in this fashion or degree ever again.

He was alone, with only his children to keep him company. If they didn't reject him too.

When Sherlock returned home and cuddled his twins, he fought the painful longing that made its way out of his lock-box, and tried not to cry when Hamish gave him a smile that was so similar to his sire's.

&*()!&*()!&*()!&*()!&

Mary knew. She _knew_. She was a Beta, and she wanted to see the pups. Sherlock originally resisted, but only relented when she said that she wouldn't take them away.

She cooed at Hamish, playing with his curls, while he babbled non-stop while waving a toy in his chubby hands. Blake was harder to please, and fought back. Mary giggled and handed her back to Sherlock.

"She's beautiful. John's eyes, your hair… she'll break so many hearts when she gets older. But she's definitely your daughter, she only loves you." She murmured when Sherlock took her back. Blake nuzzled his neck and huffed in the only indignation that babies could manage.

She loved Hamish, and wanted to carry him everywhere, but even Hamish eventually reached for Sherlock, indigo eyes distressed. Mary giggled again, and when Sherlock took him back (after putting Blake back into the playpen), she murmured into his ear.

"John wants a pair just like them, but don't tell him I said so."

Sherlock smiled softly.

"I won't."

*()! *()! *()! *()! *

Sherlock gave his speech, solved a murder, and played at their wedding.

He told John congrats for his new litter (a single pup he guessed, not twins), and left shortly after.

He went to Mycroft's, picked up his children, and returned to Baker Street. And tried, and failed, to stop his tears as soon as he tucked the twins away and sat in the living room.

It hurt.

Like his heart was being burned out of him.

For a brief second, he thought one thing.

'Moriarty won. He lost the war, but he won that battle.'

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John returned a year later, a blonde pup nestled against him. His eyes were red.

Sherlock had been busy; his nearly three year old twins were running havoc in the house.

"John."

"Mary… she's in labor. I… I can't take Allen with me. Can you watch him? While I'm at the hospital?"

Sherlock almost shut the door in John's face, ('why would you want me to watch your pup when you can't even look at ours?!' his mind raged) but he had seen those eyes before.

"I'll watch him." He took Allen (John's eyes, Mary's hair), and stood by the door until John's cab whipped around the corner.

Things were very bad indeed.

Sherlock cradled the boy, who just watched him with a gaze that would forever remind him of Mary. Blake was curious, and she played with the boy.

"Hammy's eyes." She announced to Sherlock. "Brothers."

Sherlock smiled weakly at her.

"Yes."

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Mary was gone.

Gone because of Sherlock.

Because someone believed that it would rattle him.

They were right.

Allen slept peacefully in his half-siblings' playpen, Hamish napping next to him.

John sat despondent in his old red chair, holding a week-old Iris in his arms. Blake, in an unusual fit of affection (well, she was affectionate, but really only to Sherlock) sat next to him her dark hair blending almost perfectly with John's dark suit.

Sherlock grit his teeth in anger.

Mary was John's life. She gave him everything. Now somebody had taken away the only source of happiness from a man who had already lost so much. If they were here now, Sherlock would gladly wring their necks.

John came back to Baker Street, and Mrs. Hudson had done major renovations to 221C. It served as a play/nap/bedroom for the children. The lab was still in the kitchen, and John was back in his old room upstairs. The flat was cleaner, out of necessity rather than whim, and Sherlock regularly juggled work and play with the three pups.

Sherlock held in his hands the tox screen for Mary.

It was a poison that took her away from John. Oh, there was an antidote, but it was in the States, too far for coincidence. No, this had been planned. Deliberately, delicately. Sherlock read the screening again, even though he had it memorized.

"Sherlock." John spoke softly. Sherlock turned back to him.

"Do you have my revolver?"

"Yes. And when I find the ones who did this John… I'll make sure you have plenty of bullets." Sherlock told him. Something flared in John's eyes, and Sherlock was 90% sure that's not why John was asking about the gun. Sherlock wasn't going to let him have the weapon. Not when Iris and Allen needed him. Not when his (admittedly) fickle Blake had decided that she loved John too. Not when Hamish wanted his solider father to hold him when he had nightmares of the boogeyman.

No, when Sherlock said that he couldn't catch Mary's killer… then he would give John the gun. But he wouldn't let that happen.

He studied what he knew afresh.

There was _always_ something.

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Sherlock took a deep breath. He had done it.

He had avenged Mary, who loved John so much. He reveled in his victory. Mycroft had warned him away, saying that going against this man would mean going against the government. But Sherlock found a way.

And now Mary could rest, be free of the shadows that might cling to her memory. John smiled in relief. They were free. For now.

Allen cackled, Iris cooed, and Hamish rolled and tumbled with them, happy. Blake was quiet.

"It's the calm Daddy, Papa." She said solemnly. Sherlock knelt beside her, one hand cupping her face. Indigo eyes locked with mercury.

"And we will weather it." He promised. He looked up at John, who watched them both carefully. They had never talked about why he came back, but it was clear that Mary had something to do with it.

Sherlock could guess what the woman had told John.

'Accept the pups Sherlock has.'

John had taken Sherlock back, accepted the existence of his older pups when he returned with Iris and Allen. He had been stiff at first, but it was Blake (clever little Blake, who had Sherlock's mind) who welcomed him home.

John realized he had been caught, and smiled almost shyly, before looking at his surroundings. Iris was sleeping soundly on his shoulder, Allen drooling on Hamish, and Blake holding both of their hands.

"Well. Seems like we're going to have some time to relax, eh?" He asked. Sherlock smiled faintly.

"Yes."

#$%^&*()! #$%^&*()!

Sherlock woke up in heat. In the living room, he could hear John talking to Mycroft, and there was whining (most likely Hamish). So, John could smell him.

Was he going to leave too?

No, then why would Mycroft be here?

Oh.

_Oh._

John was going to stay.

Sherlock tallied the days in his head; it had been a year and a half since Mary had been laid to rest in the earth. No…. It had been… two years. Hamish and Blake were almost five, Allen nearly three, and Iris was in her terrible twos.

Two years…. Ah, his body was giving the cues that he was ready for another pup.

He hoped not. It was all but official that Allen and Iris were his, or that their father was with Sherlock. Was John telling him something by staying?

Finally the noise faded, and the door closed.

John opened his door.

"You alright?" He asked. Sherlock scoffed.

"Use the nose you were born with John. I'm in heat."

John sniffed haughtily.

"Of course. I meant, are you on birth control? You can't take suppressants, you're allergic, and you can't take the combination meds for the same reason."

Sherlock's brain sputtered to a halt for ten seconds.

"You're staying?" He finally asked, his tongue feeling ridiculously heavy and clumsy in his mouth.

John gave him the 'you know I hate repeating myself' look that was clearly a replication of the look Sherlock gave him.

"Yes." There was something in that blue gaze, something that spoke of pain and forgiveness, and a lonely gaping ache.

Sherlock sat upright, his frame heavy with the urge to lay lax on his back and let John just use his body.

"Oh John…" Sherlock reached for him, and felt John's rough palm rub against his as they met halfway.

"I miss her, Sherlock. She was brilliant, I loved her so much." John murmured as he stepped closer. "But I also love you, just as much, just as dearly. You scared me so many times when you tracked down her killer. I thought for sure I would lose you for good that last time. Never again. Don't do that to me Sherlock. Don't leave me alone."

He was very close to Sherlock now, leaning down so their foreheads touched.

Sherlock felt his throat tighten.

"Never. Come to bed John." Sherlock pulled him down onto the mattress, and felt a brush of lips against his brow as John took control.

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Sherlock remembered hazily that the first time wasn't like this. John was still gentle, his hands teasing his nerves, lips murmuring things to his skin as he kissed, and his length thick and heavy against Sherlock's thigh.

But there was hesitancy to his movements, like he was worried that Sherlock would break if he wasn't careful.

Sherlock cupped John's face.

"I'm not going to break sweetheart." He told the sandy-haired Alpha above him. John stopped and his eyes turned dark. Not with lust, with grief.

"Sweetheart… you never called me that. It was always 'John'. Why the change?"

Sherlock blinked. The endearment had slipped out without his notice.

John paused, and then smiled.

"Ah. I see. Don't worry love. I'll take care of you." John kissed him, in that same fashion from so long ago, that stopped his brain functions and halted the breath in his lungs.

Sherlock groaned when John's lips left his, his body arching up in a massive protest. John traced a feather light line from chin to clavicle to nipple to ribs to navel to groin to arse. Sherlock gasped as John probed in, his blunt fingers both familiar and alien inside him.

John teased him there, his finger (soon it was fingers) rubbing and pushing, and when Sherlock finally came, it was a nerve-shattering shock.

"You alright love?" John asked, kissing Sherlock gently. Sherlock panted, his head buzzing with the after effects from coming by John's_ fingers_.

But it only fanned the flames of Sherlock's heat.

"John… John please… don't tease." Sherlock groaned. John hooked one long leg over his shoulder and eased his cock into Sherlock. He was loose from John's fingers, but still so tight beyond the reach of where John's fingers had been.

Sherlock arched into it, his vision whiting out when John pressed his knot against Sherlock's entry.

"Hush love, I've got you." John mouthed against Sherlock's collarbone, rocking his hips in slowly, murmuring while Sherlock alternately gasped and moaned, and pushing his hips back to meet the crest of John's movement.

They took it a little faster from the last time, and Sherlock, cried out every time John made him climax, the Omega side of his biology demanding that the Alpha breed him, mark him, make Sherlock a part of John for the rest of their lives.

Just as John's knot breached Sherlock's entry, John bit the scent gland that rested in the crook of neck and shoulder, breaking the skin and mixing their scents for the duration of this heat. Sherlock felt his body seize and shudder as John came inside his body, the first wave of Sherlock's heat passing. He closed his eyes, as John murmured gentle words into his ear in that soft Scottish lilt.

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Sherlock tested and re-tested himself. It had been a week.

John's scent hung heavy on his skin, seven full days after his last wave of Omega heat. He didn't have an indication that he had conceived during his heat (John, that insufferably sweet man, had made sure not to fuck Sherlock senseless, just like before), but Omega men showed markers sooner than Omega or Beta females.

Nine tests.

Positive. All of them.

He looked in the mirror, pulling down his collar. A deep red (almost purple) mark right where John had bitten him. He remembered seeing a similar mark on Mary's neck.

"John…" He gasped out, feeling as if he had the wind punched out of his lungs. "John!"

John appeared, eyes concerned. Sherlock turned to him, clapping a hand to his collarbone. He was afraid. No, he was _terrified_. He had been rejected once before by this man, the one who held so many keys to his mind, who had Sherlock's damaged heart irrevocably in his tanned and sure grasp. A man who saved and saved Sherlock more times than he care to admit.

John gave a wordless croon, glancing quickly at the counter, and guided Sherlock to the toilet, where the taller man sat on the lid.

"Easy love. Let me see. It's alright; I'm not going to hurt you." John spoke gently, easing Sherlock's white fingers away from his collarbone. Once the bite was exposed, John stopped.

Sherlock barely dared to breathe. But when John locked eyes with him, he couldn't stop the flood that came forth.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I didn't think it would stay this long, I thought for sure that I wasn't going to get pregnant. I don't have anything to offer you, that's why… that's why I liked Mary so much. She could give you everything that I couldn't John. I love you, I always have, since that first day at Bart's when you demanded an answer out of me, but I couldn't give you what you wanted. A family, stability, reliability. You put up with so much from me, and I never told you about Hamish and Blake, I just… I… John... I'm so sorry…." Sherlock took in a shuddering breath and kept talking, panic rising uncontrollably. "God, Moriarty was right. He would burn the heart out of me… you. You were my heart, all this time, Hamish and Blake…. I love them so much, Allen and Iris… they aren't mine, but I've wanted them here, in this life, this flat because the twins love them so much… but you'll want somebody. Someone else, who will love you like Mary did, and that won't be-"

Sherlock had been looking up at John, his eyes wide and panicked, when John kissed him. Not a gentle kiss, but that kiss he had seen before with Mary when he told John she was pregnant. The kiss that said everything and nothing, made promises and swore oaths.

"You… have nothing to apologize for. Thank you Sherlock." John whispered when he finally broke away. Sherlock gaped, his mind reeling.

"I told you before idiot. That I wanted the two people I love and care for most in the world there with me when I got married, you just didn't pay attention. That's why I was so angry when I found out about the twins. Because I wanted it to be something you and Mary could share. Sherlock do you realize just _how much I love you?_ You've given me two children, and when my wife died, you took her children in as your own. Did you ever wonder why I had _three_ rings? You bloody idiot." John kissed him again. Sherlock's brain short circuited, then reset to the weeks before John's wedding. The newspapers… Triad marriages.

Oh….

Oh.

_Ohh._

Three rings, asking Sherlock to be there, it all made sense. John had proposed to his Omega. Sherlock finally pieced together that slightly hurt look John had given him when he said 'Best Man'. Like puzzle pieces onto the board, gears clicking into place.

Something bubbled up in his chest, and he felt…_lighter_.

As if he had been strapped down by weights at his ankles and suddenly they were gone.

John pulled away.

"You do realize that I'm not letting you go this time right?" John smiled, indigo eyes crinkled at the corners.

Sherlock smiled back.

"I would have expected nothing less."

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Sherlock fidgeted in his suit. It was a lovely thing, mercury grey with amethyst purple and snow white. John wore white, with lavender and pearl grey. His eyes were crinkled at the corners and he had a decidedly smug smile on his face. He thought this was funny.

Hamish was passed out in the front pew, his head propped on Blake's shoulder. He was drooling in his sleep. Iris sat tucked up on her other side, also sound asleep, but not drooling. Allen just sat, looking around quietly, but his hand was knotted in the hem of Blake's lavender and white dress. Sherlock felt a rush of fondness for his oldest. Blake was like Sherlock in many ways, but in these small moments, she was the most like John.

There was a soft clearing of a throat and Sherlock blinked.

"I'm sorry what?"

John laughed.

"I think you're supposed to say 'I do' right about now." He teased.

"Ah. Um, I do."

The priest looked as if he was trying very hard not to laugh in the middle of a ceremony.

"I applaud your enthusiasm Mr. Holmes, but not just yet." He finally managed to choke out. Sherlock felt his jaw go slack a little as laughter rippled through the church.

"I'll get you for that." Sherlock mock-threatened.

"I'm sure you will."

^&*()! #$%^&*()! #$%^

Sherlock kissed the ring on his finger for the hundredth time that day. John was at work; Blake and Hamish at school, Allen and Iris were at day school. Just him and his growing little one in his belly. John said that he didn't want to know the gender until the pup was born; Sherlock was practically chomping at the bit to find out what the sex was. So, as a joke, John had asked the three eldest to help Daddy pick names for their newest sibling.

Sherlock felt infinitely lucky. He had his pups. He had John. And he had the memory of Mary, a piece of their lives who made so much of what they had now. Sometimes if Sherlock focused hard enough he could catch a whiff of rain and crisp autumn apples lingering on John's skin. He wondered if his brief contact with that lovely woman had some of her scent on him.

There was a pounding on the steps.

Lestrade burst in, out of breath.

"Listen, I know John wants you to take it easy, but I have a locked door murder. Can you come?" He panted. Sherlock paused, but nodded after a moment of careful thought.

"I'll be right behind you."

Lestrade gave him the address, and left. Sherlock waited another five minutes, and heard John come up.

"Lestrade has a locked door murder. Want to come?" He asked.

John smiled.

"Ready when you are love."

Sherlock smiled, and burst into a flurry of motion.

"Then the game, my dear Watson, is on!"

! #$%^&*()(*&^%$# ! #$%^&*()

Finished!

Okay, the OCs are actual charas that I have, and yes, Blake is a BAMF in her own right. I have no idea how to spell the name of Sherlock's newest antagonist.

The three rings and Triad marriage is my own plot device, inspired by John's expression when Sherlock was asked to be his best man.

Yes, this is in fact something to keep me calm while I try to convince our favorite dominatrix to come play nicely with the rest of the children of that sequel I promised. I hope you enjoyed!

Love,

Fuyu Tatsu

P.S: I would love some reviews on this puppy. Hugs and kisses guys!


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